As long as one can suffer, one is living….live and suffer until life is gone.
BETTY SMITHIf there was only one tree like that in the world, you would think it was beautiful. But because there are so many, you just can’t see how beautiful it really is.
More Betty Smith Quotes
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People looking up at her–at her smooth pretty vivacious face–had no way of knowing about the painfully articulated resolves formulating in her mind.
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The neighborhood stores are an important part of a city child’s life.
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I never listen to what people tell me and I can’t read. The only way I know what is right and wrong is the way I feel about things. If I feel bad, it’s wrong. If I feel good, it’s right.
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Prairie was lovely and Shenandoah had a beautiful sound but you couldn’t fit those words into Brooklyn. Serene was the only word for it especially on a Saturday afternoon in summer.
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From that time on, the world was hers for the reading. She would never be lonely again, never miss the lack of intimate friends. Books became her friends and there was one for every mood.
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The difference between rich and poor”, said Francie, “is that the poor do everything with thier own hands and the rich hire hands to do things.
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Look at everything always as though you were seeing it either for the first or last time: Thus is your time on earth filled with glory.
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It’s come at last”, she thought, “the time when you can no longer stand between your children and heartache.
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Well’ Francie decided, ‘I guess the thing that is giving me this headache is life – and nothing else but’.
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Brooklyn was a dream. All the things that happened there just couldn’t happen. It was all dream stuff. Or was it all real and true and was it that she, Francie, was the dreamer?
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I wrote about people who liked fake fireplaces in their parlor, who thought a brass horse with a clock embedded in its flank was wonderful.
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I’ll not punish you for having an imagination.
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New York! I’ve always wanted to see it and now I’ve see it. It’s true what they say– it’s the most wonderful city in the world.
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She went out and took a last long look at the shabby little library. She knew she would never see it again.
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No. I don’t want to need anybody. I want someone to need me … I want someone to need me.
BETTY SMITH